


Can't Take the Sky from Me

by courageousteapot



Category: Firefly, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF!John, Crossover, Gen, Johnlock goggles optional, Pregnant!Zoe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-19 10:25:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courageousteapot/pseuds/courageousteapot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes is a young man enrolled in the Alliance’s Academy for the Meta-Gifted. John H. Watson is a young soldier selected for a government-sponsored military academy. A passing moment is all the time it takes for them to form an understanding. Prologue set in 2512, a year after the end of the Unification War and five years before the beginning of Firefly. </p><p>The story proper begins in 2518, post-Miranda (ignoring selective parts of Serenity because feels). When James Moriarty, an Academy graduate, increases his pursuit of the escaped genius and soldier, a minor government official calls in a favor from the captain of a certain Firefly class starship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Study in Blue (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing except my own plot bits. Sherlock and Firefly belong to their respective copyright holders, not myself.

**Year 2512**

“Afghana or Hera?”

John stared at the skinny young man who had materialized in front of him in the hallway outside the institution’s cafeteria. “I’m sorry, what?”

The teen rolled his glass-green eyes. “Despite your age – I’d say 18 or 19 – you’ve obviously already seen military action – bullet wound in your shoulder, psychosomatic limp, could have been a scuffle on one of the border planets, but your bearing and hairstyle says military. The Alliance doesn’t recruit soldiers under the age of twenty-five and doesn’t allow a standing military on any of their planets, apart from their own. Non-Alliance soldier, so Independent, but the war’s been over now for months. Long enough for your shoulder to heal, but not long enough for the scar tissue to have loosened, hence the tension. So, fought as an Independent and wounded in one of the last battles of the Unification War: Afghana or Hera?” His tongue clicked oddly on the last word, as if he was already bored.

John swallowed hard and drew himself up as straight as was possible with his bad leg. He glanced around quickly to make sure no one else was in earshot, then leveled his gaze at the man in front of him, as difficult as it was since it meant looking up a good six inches. He straightened his spine a hair more. “Afghana,” he said. “Battle of Maiwand Moon.”

“With the way the officers were dropping there at the end, you must have made, what, lieutenant, at least?”

“Captain,” he corrected, even more stiffly. “As well as ranking medic for the entire regiment.” The boy’s insufferable arrogance made him reckless. He wanted him to understand the full value of Captain John H. Watson, even if said captain had lost the war and was now being held in an enemy installation.

“A doctor?” the other asked, raising his eyebrow and flicking his gaze over John’s form. He muttered what sounded like, “There’s always something.” He met John’s eyes again, eyebrow still raised appraisingly. “Any good?”

John dipped his chin towards his chest. “Very good,” he said firmly. “I may have grown up on a border planet, but I graduated from the top Med Acad on Osiris.” Aware of the incongruity of the situation, he snapped his hand into a salute. “Captain John Watson, at your service.”

The lanky teen smirked at him, but before he could say anything else, one of the installation’s employees, hands covered in tell-tale blue gloves, entered the hallway and both young men’s expressions dropped into blankness.

The taller boy turned to leave, but John caught his arm. “Who are you?” he demanded in a low voice.

“The name is Sherlock Holmes, and I’m in room 221, B section, Baker Hall. You should drop by sometime.” He winked at John, then ducked out a nearby door, leaving a bewildered doctor behind.

*****

He didn’t talk to Sherlock again for the next several months. After that first hectic week, the Academy made certain they kept their two pools of “participants” separated: the “meta-gifted,” of which Sherlock was obviously one; and the soldiers like John.

To the best of his knowledge, John was one of only three Browncoats in the hundreds of participants. As far as he could tell, though, the researchers didn’t seem concerned with his past loyalties. They were just concerned with him. This was a relief until he realized they weren’t concerned with him as an individual, either. To them he was a thing, a mass of muscle and mind to study and to beat into what they wanted.

And there were beatings, plenty of them. It was the most grueling training John had ever gone through, as harsh on his body as graduating years early from a top med acad had been on his mind. The Independents had certainly not been able to put together a basic training program remotely comparable. Browncoats were a ragged, stubborn lot, making up for discipline and resources with spit and fire. As long as you were willing to put a bullet into any Alliance you crossed, you were welcomed as a brother or sister.

John had been in good shape before, but with the constant training and torture the Academy put him through, his body became hard and lean, without an ounce of fat or weakness. His limp could be dismissed with a trigger word: as Sherlock had said, it was psychosomatic, a leash the Alliance kept on him when they weren’t running him through his paces. His eyes became cold and flinty, and he could catalogue an opponent’s weaknesses in under a second, mercilessly targeting those same weaknesses in the next second. Despite his size and unremarkable appearance, he was soon the top of the program, undefeated in their innumerable rounds of training sparring.

All of that was well and good – useful, even. But then they started to mess with his mind.

He had enough training in psychology to understand what was happening. They were trying to turn him into a machine, someone who would kill without hesitation, obeying orders without question. They were trying to separate him from the part of him he valued most, the humanity of John Watson, his compassion, his ability to save life as well as destroy it.

The chaos at the end of the war was actually his saving grace. Hardly any records had been kept of officers, most of whom died within weeks of being promoted, anyway. All the Alliance knew about John Watson was that he was a captain barely out of boyhood, a fearless soldier who would kill and die for his cause. They didn’t know – could never understand – that he was a doctor, too, that healing and killing were opposite sides of the same coin. And even if they had records on John H. Watson, sixth in his class at the Medical Academy of Osiris, what would such a man be doing scratching the dirt with the Independents out on the Rim? There was more than one John Watson in the ‘verse, certainly, and this would simply be another one.

So when they gave him pills, telling him they were vitamins and painkillers, he analyzed them the best he could with touch, taste, sight, and smell. Then he flushed them down the loo and acted bleary, nodding along to whatever his “therapist” said, burying away any emotions beneath a blank exterior. But he knew it was just a matter of time before he slipped up and they started injecting him directly.

He saw Sherlock occasionally in the cafeteria. Almost against his will, whenever any of the metas were in the room, he found himself scanning them for a tall pale boy with a shock of black curls and glass-green eyes. 

At first the other teen was bright, his eyes as razor-sharp as John remembered them from the day in the hallway. But as the weeks passed, strain started to leave its marks on Sherlock. He grew even more pale and gaunt, his eyes dulled, his hair became lackluster and flat. Around the time they tried to start John on medication, red dots appeared at the other boy’s temples. With horror, John identified the dots as scars left from cranial probes. These people were abusing John’s body and will, but they were trying to twist Sherlock’s mind. Even though he’d only had one conversation with the young man, John knew that losing control of that crystalline brilliance would break him.

They had to get out.

Finally, months after their first conversation, they had their second. Sherlock met John’s eyes across the cafeteria and blinked rapidly. After a heartbeat, John identified the pattern as morse code. Leaving. Three days. 221B Baker. Be ready.

John nodded slightly and looked away, allowing himself a tight smile. Three days, then. The game was on.

***** 

A world away, in an unmarked office on Londinium, a man occupying a minor position in the Interplanetary Alliance received a private message. It was written in a code a decade old, one known only to himself and one other person in the ‘verse. When translated, the message said simply, “Please.” He stared at it for nearly a minute, then keyed on his vidcom to make a call.


	2. Proper Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in year 2518 (six years after the previous chapter).
> 
> Let's see what the crew of _Serenity's_ up to these days, shall we?

**Year 2518**

Kaylee leaned over the crowded table in _Serenity’s_ warm galley, dishing out the protein she and River had made as (innocuously) exciting as possible. River was at the other end of the table, concentrating as she gave each crew member the closest approximation to rolls the ship could offer. 

Mal glanced up at the girl, getting a shy smile that he quickly returned before turning back to his first mate. “I’m thinkin’ we go to Badger with this. We haven’t had any dealings with him in a time, could be he’d like some of the pretty we’re sitting on.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Sir, we don’t want to deal with Badger. Remember the stabbing?”

“He should,” Inara cut in with her silky voice. “He was very proud of it at the time.”

“But that wasn’t personal, per say,” Mal insisted. “I mean, sure, he made some rather cutting remarks regarding my anatomy and sticks, but it wasn’t like he planned for me to get into a duel with dearest Atherton.” 

Inara sipped her drink, pretending not to notice the high-pitched inflection the captain used on the young noble’s name.

Kaylee set the serving dish in the middle of the table and plopped down into her chair, absently clasping Simon’s hand as her eyes lit up, looking at the companion. “Ooh, Inara, if we go back there and you go to any high-class parties, maybe you could bring back some snacks or somethin’? Those that other time was real nice.”

Inara laughed. “I’ll see what I can do, Kaylee.”

“Badger’s still a gorram bastard,” Jayne mumbled through a full mouth. “We could’a taken his guys and sprung you, though, if ya hadn’t come back too early.” He snickered. “Though Badger’s gonna be askin’ about Crazy Girl if we turn back up.” 

River looked at the mercenary almost fondly, batting his hand away when he tried to steal a third roll. He grunted and subsided, and Mal marveled again at the rough understanding they’d managed to come to. Jayne still never called River by name, but he wasn’t trying to turn her over to the Feds, either. Mal wasn’t exactly sure how much of that had to do with a certain conversation involving a particularly heavy wrench.

Then Jayne’s words sank in and he shook his head. “What? Badger met River? Who thought it would be a good idea to introduce the federal fugitive to a man who probably sold his own mother for a stupid-looking hat?”

Shepherd pressed his fingers together in front of his chin. “Apparently River did, and it seemed to be a wise decision. She impersonated one of his countrymen, and he seemed quite smitten.”

Mal looked incredulously at Simon, but the young doctor just shrugged. “It didn’t seem to cause any problems.” He’d certainly mellowed out his overprotective brother act since he and Kaylee started their thing – but maybe that was more related to seeing his “helpless” baby sister standing on a mountain of Reaver corpses without a mark on her. Either way, it made the kid less annoying. Come to think on it, that same mountain o’ corpses might be the reason for Jayne’s newfound respect, as well.

Zoe reached for her third helping of something resembling mashed potatoes.

“Hey-“ Jayne started. Zoe shot him a glare that practically made the air sizzle, and he wisely shut his mouth.

River giggled as she sat down, pushing more food towards the first mate. “Little one is hungry.” Then she suddenly sat up straight and turned her head, seeming to listen to something far away. “Magic trick,” she whispered. Then she looked at Mal, her eyes clear. “Friends coming,” she said, her face lighting up into a brilliant smile.

The intercom crackled in the wall by the door. “Mal, you’ve got a hail on the Cortex,” Wash called. “Some posh lady, from the sound of it.”

Mal was already on his feet and striding towards the bridge. 

*****

Within minutes he stood behind his pilot’s chair, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you run on and grab some chow? Kaylee and River were experimenting again, and I’d hate for you to feel left out if it kills us all.”

“Yeah, sure,” Wash said, craning his head back to look at Mal. The captain looked unusually tense. “Something the matter?” he asked as he twisted out of his chair.

Mal flashed him a quick, insincere smile. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

Wash shrugged. “Let me know if you decide to crash us, okay?”

Mal waved him out the door. “Go keep your wife from killing Jayne. I swear she’s gotten even more terrifyingly violent since she’s taken on a passenger.”

At the thought of his beautiful, deadly, pregnant wife, Wash got a stupid look on his face and hurried off the bridge.

When he was sure he was alone, Mal leaned forward and keyed on the ‘com. “Mal here,” he said.

“Sergeant Reynolds,” came the response, uttered in a proper Londinium accent. “It’s been some time since we last spoke. I’m glad to know you’re doing well.” 

And of course she knew he was doing well without asking. Hell, if there were ever anything _he_ didn’t know, it could only mean the end of the ‘verse.

“I take it your boss has a job?” he asked, getting right to the point.

“Indeed,” she said. She paused for a moment before continuing. “He would like to express his apologies for interrupting your schedule, but it is a personal matter, requiring the utmost discretion. And the details could get … messy.”

“Right up my alley, then, huh?” Mal asked. “Where and when is the pickup?”

“Londinium in six days. The exact coordinates have been uploaded to you. You should have plenty of time to make the pickup before rendezvousing with your contact on Persephone to unload your nontraditionally acquired emeralds.”

Mal snorted. “Your employer should know how very annoying it is when he does that. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he plans to rule the ‘verse.”

At that, they both laughed, the call ended and Mal returned to his dinner.


	3. The Sergeant with the Twisted Lip

Vauxhall Arches was one of the seediest, dirtiest spaceports Mal had ever visited, which was saying _a lot_. It was mostly populated by vagrants, people who drifted across the ‘verse in whatever cheap transportation they could find, often only with the clothes on their backs (which were looking much the worse for wear). Mal had the weird sensation that some half-dozen of these individuals were watching him – or maybe the crate he was walking towards.

He’d brought Jayne and Shepherd along, but ordered everyone else to keep well away from _Serenity’s_ hatches with their heads down. Ostensibly he left Zoe behind to make sure the rest followed orders; in reality, he didn’t want his pregnant first mate in anything resembling danger. He wasn’t sure if Wash would kill him or crash his ship, or maybe both, if anything happened to his wife or child - and that was assuming that Zoe didn't take Mal apart herself, first. Jayne was obviously useful in his role of “public relations,” and Shepherd Book’s skill in the kneecap-shooting area had already proved helpful a time or three.

The petite dusk-skinned woman leaning against the large crate raked her eyes down the captain as he approached. She inhaled on her cigarette. “You Reynolds?” she asked in a sharp, lower-end Londinium voice.

Mal drew to a stop in front of her, legs spread and thumbs through his belt, radiating a casual innocence. “Depends,” he answered. “You my contact?”

Jayne was practically drooling as he eyed the attractive young woman, and she flipped him off without even looking at him. “You involved with the Freak?” she asked Mal, her mouth twisting into a sneer.

“If by ‘freak’ you mean – “

“No names,” she snapped, flicking her cigarette to the ground. She straightened and kicked the crate behind her. “Just get this thing off world and I’ll be happy.”

She stared impassively as Jayne and Shepherd stepped forward to load the crate onto the mule. Mal watched her a moment, then shrugged and gave them a hand. By the time they were heading back to the ship, she had disappeared into the crowd.

*****

River sat on the catwalk of the storage bay, two blankets wrapped around her shoulders, humming happily.

“Mei mei, why do you have a blanket? Are you cold? Wait – that’s my blanket!” Simon crouched down next to her, trying to get a good look at her face, but she ignored him. He was being boring, and at such an exciting time! Soon friends would be here, scarf and cardigan, cigarette and scars. She continued humming happily, her feet twitching to unheard music. The Rose Adagio. Tchaikovsky. Almost time to wake up.* 

“Do you want me to get you a sweater?” the doctor asked, but any further inquiry was cut off as Kaylee came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Stop bein’ such a worrywart, Simon,” she scolded. “River knows how to dress herself. I’m sure she’s got a reason for the blankets, right, sweetheart?”

River threw a grateful look at the young mechanic, then went back to watching the hatch as Kaylee drew the protesting Simon away. Almost here.

*****

Jayne drove the mule slowly through the crowds, dragging the crate as Mal and Shepherd walked alongside it. Looking casual, the preacher leaned towards Mal. 

“I don’t want to worry you,” he said in a low voice, “But I believe we’re being observed.”

Mal nodded without looking around. “Yep. How many did you see?”

Shepherd paused for a moment, searching his peripheral vision. “I see eight now.”

Mal nodded again, impressed. He’d only seen six, himself.

“Is this likely to be a problem?” Shepherd prompted.

The captain grinned tightly and shook his head. “I’d be more worried if we didn’t see anyone watching.” The older man raised his eyebrows. “Don’t worry,” Mal reassured him. “They just want to make sure we get our cargo and get off world without a mess.”

“They’re on our side?” Shepherd asked, eyebrows still raised. 

Mal shrugged again. “I wouldn’t say their boss is on anyone’s side, really, ‘cept for his own. But it’s in his best interest that we not come to harm.”

The other’s expression cleared. “I see. They work for the man who gave us this job.” Mal nodded, and Shepherd eyed the crate speculatively, then casually glanced around the crowded port. He must have seen something Mal hadn’t, some tell about the professionalism of their observers. “He seems a bit outside of our normal clientele. Is there a story there?”

Mal snorted. “You mean he isn’t dirt poor, dirty, or desperate? Yeah, a bit off our beaten path.” He paused for a moment, reflecting. “I knew him in the war,” he said at last. It didn’t really answer much, but it was enough for the preacher to nod, satisfied.

They finally made it to the ship. As the mule clattered up the hatch ramp, Mal glanced back out into the crowd one last time. A woman in black, tapping on a com tablet, caught his eye. He watched as she looked up at him. She held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. Mal nodded back, then slapped the control to close the hatch, calling for Wash to get them airborne.

*****

By the time they broke atmo, everyone but Wash was back in the cargo bay, eyeing their newest acquisition.

“What is it?” Kaylee finally asked, giving in to the question everyone else was dying to ask.

Mal grabbed a crowbar and started prying off the wooden-slat lid. “Not sure, really,” he answered, grunting with effort.

“You brought something on without knowing what it was, sir?” Zoe asked. Despite the “sir” tacked on at the end, the tone was a resigned “do you _ever_ think anything through?”

“It’s from Alpha Wolf,” he replied, moving around to loosen the other side of the crate’s lid.

Zoe jerked to attention in surprise, but the name obviously meant nothing to anyone else. Well, it was hard to tell if it meant anything to River, and Shepherd’s face seemed oddly expressionless, but Simon, Kaylee, Jayne, and Inara were in the dark.

“Old war buddy,” Mal muttered by way of explanation, not being entirely truthful.

Kaylee looked slightly panicked, and Zoe quickly reassured her. “Not like Tracey,” she said.

“Yeah,” Mal said, his voice dripping sarcasm. “Alpha seems to have fallen on his feet, a bit.”

With Jayne and Simon’s help, Mal lifted the lid off of the wooden crate, revealing a few bags of luggage that looked innocuous enough piled at one end. The majority of the space, however, was filled with a large silver box, remarkably similar to the one River had first come on board the ship in. The only difference was that this one was at least half again as large.

Before anyone could stop her, River darted forward, tapping at the controls. “Time to wake up,” she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I spent an embarrassingly long amount of time googling ballets and trying to make this make some kind of sense as an allusion – something that would be known to both River (dance) and Sherlock (violin). “Sleeping Beauty” seemed apt, though according to gelishan (http://archiveofourown.org/works/211917), Tchaikovsky would likely not be Sherlock’s favorite composer. 
> 
> If you know more than I do about classical music and dance (not difficult!), please forgive me. Also I love suggestions!


	4. A Good Old-Fashioned Meet 'n' Greet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally!

Mal personally thought the slight hiss and quiet whirring of motors as the silver box slid open lacked some of the dramatic flair that his kicking open River’s box had had, but he supposed he shouldn’t complain. He had some idea of what Alpha Wolf had sent him, but even he was surprised by what the mist cleared to show.

“Huh,” he said.

The box contained not one person, but instead two grown men, curled together. The shorter, broader man was blonde and powerful, with a large scar standing out on his left shoulder. He was curled around the other man, with his arms wrapped around his head. The other man was taller and slighter, with a head full of black curls. His body was pale, his legs tucked up below the smaller man’s.

“What the – “ Jayne began, but stopped when River darted forward, throwing the two blankets she had around her shoulders over the two men, restoring some amount of modesty.

The blonde blinked his blue eyes open and sat up, stretching and casually laying a hand on the other man’s shoulder – whether in comfort or protection was unclear. He blinked again, registering the blankets, and looked up at River. He smiled warmly. “Thank you, love.” His voice carried a clear accent, either from Londinium or one of its colonies. His eyes moved past her to Mal, and he nodded slightly. “Good to see you again, Sergeant Reynolds.”

Mal crossed his arms. “Just Mal’s fine.” He tilted his head toward the box and cleared his throat. “Didn’t expect you two to show up in the same box.”

The other man shrugged before leaning over the side of the box to root through one of the bags of luggage. “Thought you might prefer it, given what happened last time.”

Mal grunted an acknowledgement as the other man quickly pulled some pants on under the blanket. As he tugged his shirt over his head, he noticed River crouching in front of the box, her gaze fixed on the dark-haired man.

Her eyes shot to him. “Have to wait for Christmas?” she asked morosely.

He patted her head. “He’ll sleep for another hour or two,” he said. “But then you two can catch up. He’s very excited to see you again.” He stood up in the crate, stretched again, then heaved up the unconscious man, still bundled in a blanket. He glanced around at all the other people in the cargo hold staring blankly at him, then looked at Mal, eyebrow raised. “There’s a few more faces around than last time. Our old room still open?”

Mal scowled. “I try to keep it open in case a certain someone with a god complex decides to drop an unexpected cargo on me.”

The blonde grimaced. “Yes, well, can’t say I blame you. I’m sure you’ll get plenty of commiseration as soon as he wakes up.” He gestured to the man in his arms, then stepped out of the wooden crate.

He glanced around at the crowd of staring people and grimaced again. “Sorry. I’ll do proper introductions as soon as I get this git sorted out, but I’m Dr. John Watson. And this bloke in my arms is Sherlock Holmes, the ‘verse’s only consulting detective.”

*****

John got Sherlock settled into the bed of “their” passenger cabin and drew up a chair next to it. He expected members of the crew to come by soon to ask questions, but at least if he had Sherlock in a familiar place, with fewer people around, the man should have an easier time acclimating to his new environment. He checked the man’s pulse again with his left hand, stroking black curls out of his face with the other. 

He looked up at the sound of someone clearing his throat. It was the young dark-haired man from the cargo hold (bearing and complexion say not used to hard labor, did skilled work in the Core, stance and calluses say doctor, still uncertain out here on the fringes of society, romantically involved with the young woman next to him, but strongly protective of the younger girl who’d opened their crate). 

“Doctor Tam,” John said, sitting back and letting his hands drop into his lap. “I'd hoped you’d drop by.”

The doctor had evidently retained some of his good breeding, deciding to be cordial despite his no-doubt overwhelming questions. He inclined his head toward Sherlock. “Is he going to be alright?”

“He’ll be fine,” John assured him. “I purposely set the dosages so I’d wake up before him. He … adjusts … better if there’s someone familiar.” And if they were woken up by the wrong person, John would have time to incapacitate them before Sherlock started flailing around his ridiculously long limbs. 

He suddenly grinned. “And I can never convince him to sleep enough, anyway, so I might as well get some in now.” He stood and walked towards the young man, extending his hand. “Dr. John Watson.”

The young doctor returned the handshake with a surprisingly strong grip. “As you apparently already know, I’m Simon Tam.” He looked away, seemingly in an effort to stay collected. “You know River?”

John rocked back on his heels, his hands in his pockets. “Right, we never told you our names. ‘SH’ and ‘JW,’ right?”

Simon’s mouth dropped open. “You’re – you’re the ones who got River out of the Academy.”

“Yeah,” John said, nodding briskly. “And all of that will be more clear in -“ There was a slight sound from the bed and John stepped back beside it. He glanced apologetically at Simon. “Just a tic.”

A hand shot out from under the blanket, gripping John’s arm. A second later, ice-blue eyes snapped open with all the intensity of a laser. “John!” a surprisingly deep voice snapped.

“Right here, Sherlock,” the other man reassured him, laying his other hand on the one grasping his wrist. “It’s alright. We made the rendezvous and are onboard _Serenity_.”

The other man lay back and groaned, flinging an arm over his eyes dramatically. “Bloody cryogenics. There’s been an earthquake in my mind palace.”

John patted the detective’s head. “I’m sure you’ll get it all put to rights again soon. You’d better, because River’s eager to play with you again.”

A single eye peered from beneath the arm. “She’s better?” he asked. “Stable?”

John shrugged. “From the few moments I had with her, she seemed to have improved. I think her brother would be the one to ask, though.” Sherlock followed John’s gaze to look at Simon, now standing in the doorway, still struggling to grasp what was happening.

“Yes, she… we’ve been able to find a balance that seems to work for her, she’s been much more stable, more cognizant… Sorry, you said something would be more clear?”

Sherlock’s eyes skimmed over the young doctor. “Grew up on Osiris to old money, largely influenced by his parents, attended the top MedAcad on Osiris – your old alma mater, John – and likely finished his residency early. Worked as a trauma surgeon in a top hospital for one to three years before he went fugitive to protect his sister. And,” he said, smirking as he flicked his eyes across the man again, “A terrible shot, extremely uncomfortable with violence.”

“You can’t expect all doctors to be soldiers, too, Sherlock.” John sighed, resting his hand on the other’s shoulder. He looked back at Simon. “Does that help any?”

Simon’s mouth was hanging open. “You’re… a meta. Like River.” He glanced at John. “Can he – “

“I can’t read minds, no,” Sherlock interrupted. “I only observe and deduce from the evidence present.” He looked away, appearing slightly nauseous. “If they’d had me in the Academy even a bit longer, though, I’m not sure what would have happened.” John’s grip tightened, and Sherlock reached up to touch his hand lightly.

Simon cleared his throat, then cleared it again. “I – thank you.”

John nodded. “We’ve been doing what we can to shut down the Academy, and Sherlock’s brother has had a big hand in it. It’s all a bit complex, though, with the way Blue Sun practically runs the Alliance. If we really want to stop them, we have to dismantle the entire organization without tipping our hand by focusing on one area.” His face grew hard. “As much as we’d love to tear the place apart.”

“Two trainings, one for mind, one for body,” a voice sing-songed from outside the room. River stuck her head around the door, her eyes serious as she looked at Sherlock and John. “Earlier, before the now, after the war.”

John shrugged, looking at Simon. “Like she said. We were both at the Academy. They wanted Sherlock’s brain and my body. It was only later that they decided to combine the training, making their geniuses assassins, too.” His expression lightened as he watched River almost dance across the room to the side of Sherlock’s bed. 

The detective sat up and steepled his fingers under his chin, locking eyes with River. She maintained the eye contact, seemingly entranced.

John sighed and stepped away, gesturing to Simon. “We might as well leave them to it, they’ll be like that for hours. In the meantime, I’d kill for a cup of tea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... that's all I had written ahead of time. Feel free to harass me if I go a few days without posting the next chapter.


	5. The Adventure of the BAMF Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. Hopefully I'll get successive chapters up more quickly!

Despite John’s reassurance, Simon insisted rather strongly on staying with his sister and Sherlock, whether anything was likely to happen or not. John just shrugged and left him to it as he went to scrounge up some food and, hopefully, a halfway decent cuppa.

He’d put the kettle on and had his head buried in a cabinet, digging through the prepackaged protein in the hopes of finding something Sherlock would actually eat, when the slight scuff of boot against floor behind his exposed back sent him ducking and spinning, his gun instantly out and pointed at the perpetrator.

Mal raised his empty hands, though he stayed relaxed enough, propped against the galley’s counter. “Easy, there,” the captain said. “Thought you’d be over that by now. I figured if I had to worry about anybody blowing holes in my ship, it’d be one of the two psychotic geniuses I’ve got on board now.”

John forced his heartbeat to calm as he straightened, tucking his gun into the back of his pants.* “It’s been a rough couple of weeks,” he said by way of explanation. The kettle whistled and he poured boiling water into a mug over the little bag of tea leaves he’d found in a drawer.

Mal just raised an eyebrow. “Uh huh. Just try not to shoot me or mine, and we’ll all be fine. Though I guess with you on board, at least we’ve got an extra doctor around.”

John shrugged as he moved over to the table, carrying his steaming mug. “I’ll do what I can.” He took a seat, making sure his back wasn’t to either of the room’s exits. “Care to tell me a bit about your new crew? Last time you just had Zoe, that blonde Neanderthal of a mechanic, and a mustachioed pilot Zoe didn’t like.”

Mal raised his eyebrows even higher before settling across from John. “I guess things have changed a bit. Kaylee’s mechanic now, and you’re not likely to have any problems with her unless you insult _Serenity_. Wash’s lost the facial hair, which may or may not have anything to do with his marrying Zoe and getting her with child. Jayne’s an extra gun we picked up along the way – fun story – and Inara’s a companion we’ve got renting one of our shuttles. Shepherd Book’s a passenger we picked up who never left, and ditto for the Tams. Though you seemed to have more than a passing familiarity with our local fugitives.”

John hummed in agreement as he sipped from his cup, then grimaced. “That was not what I was hoping to taste. Any chance of finding tea that hasn’t been on the ship since it was built?”

Mal smirked. “Sorry about that. You’ll have to ask Inara where she hides her fancy stuff. Between Jayne and River, there’s no telling what would happen to it if she didn’t stash it away.”

John nodded, forcing himself to take another sip. At least it was hot, and his body needed the hydration. He set the mug back down, then turned it between his hands. “D’you see any potential for… problems? I know you, and I know you know your crew like the back of your hands.”

Mal leaned back in his chair and eyed the other speculatively. “Don’t see any likely problems on our end. We’ve all gotten a fondness for River, so so long as you two don’t pose a threat to her or the rest of us, we should be fine.” He met John’s eyes, and the shorter man returned his gaze steadily. Threat understood and acknowledged. Then Mal shrugged. “Well, Jayne might need a nudge. Or a wallop with a heavy duty wrench. He’s the type to push until he knows who’s in charge.”

John cracked a smile. “I think I have just the thing in mind. I’d imagine it’s been some time since River last had a good workout.”

*****  
John made sure to knock before poking his head into the companion’s shuttle. “Hello?” he asked.

Inara, looking elegant in a golden gown that draped over one shoulder and pooled at her feet, stood from her sofa. “Doctor,” she said, inclining her head. Then she raised one eyebrow. “Or should I call you by rank? You certainly seem like a military man.” Her voice was warm silk.

John shrugged. “John’s fine, or Watson if you like. I was a captain, so you can see where that might get confusing. And with Dr. Tam here, ‘doctor’ seems redundant, as well.”

She laughed lightly and sat back down, inviting him to join her with a wave of her hand. “Is your companion alright?” she asked. She poured a cup of tea and offered it to him. “I thought you’d be by before too long,” she explained at his raised eyebrow. “And I know that tea is a staple of life on Londinium.”

John seemed to consider for a moment before accepting the tea and perching on the edge of the seat. “Sherlock is fine,” he answered. “He’s talking with River now.” He took a sip of the tea and closed his eyes in rapture. Real tea, made by someone who was obviously used to the finer things in life, was a fortune he’d not expected to have.

“With River?” Inara asked, unable to conceal her surprise. “Is he… You didn’t seem surprised by her.” It was a question, but a tactful one.

John just nodded. “Yeah, he’s like her, a bit. Came out of the same academy. He’s got more of a handle on it, but he still understands her better than most others.”

Her face lit up. “That’s wonderful! The young doctor’s done what he could, but she still has her moments where it’s anyone’s guess what she’s thinking.”

John hummed in agreement, and she studied him sidelong. “Is it a problem?” she asked after a moment. “What I do? You seem a bit uncomfortable.”

“Not at all,” John said, taking another sip of tea. He glanced at the companion, then back down at his cup. “My sister’s wife was actually in your line of work. I’ve no problem with your job. It’s just that Sherlock and I had a bit of a bad time with a companion a few weeks ago. Irene Adler, if you know her.”

Inara’s mouth made a little moue of distaste. “Oh, Irene. I can’t see how anyone could have anything but a bad time with her. She makes what should be beautiful into a cheap power play.”

“Hmm,” John agreed. He finished his tea and set it down on the low table with a soft clink. “I actually had a favor to ask you,” he began.

*****

Inara did, indeed, have a couple of shock-absorb mats. No one asked her what exactly they were for, except for Jayne. Zoe shut him up with a whack to the back of his head.

They’d set up the mats in the cargo hold, near Jayne’s workout equipment. John and River stood on opposite sides of the mats, stretching and limbering up. Each was wearing a black tank top and snug black pants. The outfit made River look even more pale and willowy, while it accented John’s strong build and tanned complexion. It also revealed the starburst of scar tissue on his left shoulder. River was practically glowing with excitement, and had even tied her hair back. 

Mal stood behind John, his gaze flicking back and forth between the ex-soldier and the young genius. On the one hand, John was easily twice River’s weight, and at least twice as thick. He was also a hardened soldier, and she was just an eighteen year old girl. On the other hand, he’d seen that same tiny girl lay waste to an entire bar within seconds, not to mention the mountain of Reavers she’d taken out.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked John quietly. He couldn’t decide if he was more concerned for River’s sake or John’s.

Sherlock, now dressed in dress slacks and a blue button up shirt, stood at one end of the mats with his hands clasped behind his back as he studied the two participants. Invisible to the others, charts and words flashed before him, mapping out ranges of motion, weak points, levels of experience, likely tactics, and relative weights and body mass – a visual analysis of the coming sparring session. “It should be an even match,” he said, answering the captain’s question. “John has more experience, true, but he also has old wounds that make for easy targets. And while he clearly outweighs River, she is faster and more agile. She is also a genius, which John is not.”

“Thanks, Sherlock,” John muttered, without heat. He looked over his shoulder at Mal and grinned. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.”

He stepped out onto the mats and extended his left hand to the young girl. “May I have this dance?” he asked, smiling charmingly at her.

River returned the smile and joined him, laying her left hand on top of his, crossing their arms between their bodies. Then their eyes met and time froze.

It shattered again in a flurry of movements. John stepped back and dropped into a crouch, his arms raised in a guard position, just in time to block a kick River sent flying towards his head. He swept her leg out of the way and pivoted, rising into a punch that she blocked in turn. He followed with another punch, and she spun out of the way, along the outside of his body. 

For a moment, it really did look like they were dancing. Then River spun, landing a forearm blow to the back of John’s neck. He dove as soon as he felt the whisper of her attack, however, his movement absorbing most of the impact. He hit the ground in a smooth roll, coming up in a crouch and sending a leg to sweep River’s legs out from under her. In response, the agile young girl laid her hands on John’s shoulders and kicked into a handstand, flipping over and behind him.

John was back on his feet by the time she landed, and they drew apart for a moment, catching their breath and watching each other. Then they surged together again, two forces of nature colliding. River seemed to spend most of her time in the air, with spinning kicks and evasive flips. John stayed firmly planted on the ground, letting his base lend strength to his attacks.

“Beautiful,” Inara breathed, and Mal had to agree with her. Here was River’s true potential, grace in movement that just happened to be deadly. And John, who most people would see as plain, matched her with the same grace and efficiency.

Mal glanced over at Simon. He’d expected the young doctor to be a bit slack-jawed, but instead he wore a tiny smile on his face, his gaze distant. Likely remembering something from their childhood. He had mentioned that she loved to dance. At least he wasn’t mother-henning her.

The captain looked to Sherlock next. The genius was probably the only one on the boat who could follow everything happening in the fight. His eyes flicked back and forth as he followed the twos’ movements, probably calculating dozens of factors to predict the end of the match. But he was beaming, a crooked grin on his face as he watched his John.

Mal cleared his throat and looked away, seeking out Jayne. This display was, after all, largely for his benefit.

And there was the slack jaw Mal’d been expecting. Jayne gaped at the display before him. Then his eyes narrowed and he got a thoughtful look on his face – almost always a bad sign. If Mal could take a guess, he was figuring that he could still outshoot them, or, barring that, shoot them directly. Mal sighed. He’d seen John’s marksmanship in action, and Jayne didn’t stand a chance. Maybe they could hold that match next, though he’d prefer it if it could be off-ship.

When the time came for John to show his skill, however, they didn’t have to set up a match at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I should have mentioned this earlier, but I’m American, and can therefore not say “trousers” without giggling hysterically. As such, I use “pants” in the American sense of outerwear, rather than the British sense of underwear. I think the crew of _Serenity_ would agree with me.


	6. A Bit of Local Color

The sparring match between the ex-soldier and the genius was interrupted by the ship’s proximity alert. River and John both froze, in the middle of some rather complex grappling that left their arms crossed. River then used the distraction to twist free, flipping backwards to give herself some space.

Mal glanced over at Wash, who was gaping at the display. Aside from Kaylee, the pilot was probably the person on the boat least able to defend himself. When the crew included a preacher, a companion, a pregnant woman, and an eighteen year old girl, that was probably a blow to his manhood. But the man could fly like nobody’s business – when he actually did.

“Wash,” Mal snapped. His pilot looked at him blankly. “Proximity alert,” he prompted.

He snapped out of his daze. “Oh! Right. We must be coming up on Persephone.” He jumped up the stairs leading back to the bridge. “I should probably see to that, before we crash and die.”

“Thanks,” Mal said dryly. He looked over at the two combatants. Each was breathing a bit heavily, like they’d jogged up a flight of stairs, and had a fine sheen of sweat. Neither looked like they’d been engaged in an acrobatic fight that lasted a good thirty minutes. Meanwhile, Sherlock was surreptitiously eyeing the crew, Jayne in particular.

John wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked at Sherlock, who nodded slightly. Then the doctor turned to River. “Is that alright, luv? Enough of a workout for you?”

River was looking at her brother, who was beaming proudly back at her. She turned to smile at John. “Until next time.”

“Certainly,” he said, sketching her a bow and making a wry face. He caught a towel Shepherd tossed to him and walked over to Sherlock, mopping his face.

“It’s been awhile since you’ve seen me spar,” he said. “What’d you think?”

Sherlock tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, replaying the fight in his mind. “Your movements have slowed down a bit, as expected with age, though your reaction time is quicker due to an increase in experience. Your limp shows no sign of returning, though your shoulder seems to be troubling you, I’d expect due to the change from Londinium’s natural atmospheric pressure to the ship’s simulated pressure and gravity. Acceptable overall.”

John huffed a sigh. “Sherlock, I’m twenty five. Please don’t make me sound like an old man. And the ‘increase in experience’ you mention so casually is trying to defend our lives from the serial murderers and other unsavouries you have us racing all over the city chasing. I do have you to thank for clearing up the limp, though. And the shoulder’ll straighten itself out in a few days.”

Wash’s voice clicked on over the intercom. “We’re coming up on Persephone, folks. Mal, you wanna come up here?”

“On my way,” Mal responded, slapping the intercom button. Then he turned to the rest of his crew. “Me ‘n’ Jayne’ll be heading out to talk to Badger. Everybody else, stay on the ship.”

“Aw, but Cap’n…” Kaylee whined.

“Persephone’s a kind enough place for criminals, but they’ve also got plenty of Feds. We’ve doubled our number of fugitives, so let’s keep our heads down, alright?”

His crew wasn’t happy about it, but they agreed. Not even John or Simon noticed the look Sherlock and River exchanged.

*****

John came out of the WC after a much-needed washing up, toweling his hair dry. He was once again wearing baggy pants and an oversized sweater that hid his physique completely. He looked completely average and defenseless, though the crew of _Serenity_ now knew better.

In the lounge outside the infirmary, Simon and Kaylee were playing a card game against Inara and Shepherd Book. Zoe and Wash, he assumed, were up on the bridge.

The doctor glanced around, then looked at Simon. “Where’s River? And Sherlock?”

The younger man waved a hand toward the chairs in the corner of the room. “They’re over…” He trailed off, growing pale as he realized that corner of the room was empty.

John smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Bollocks,” he muttered.

*****

The Fed loomed over Badger’s desk, but the small-time crime lord didn’t seem concerned. He kept his feet up on his desk, bowler hat tilted slightly back on his forehead as he turned a small handle, peeling an apple. “What can I do for you?” he asked eventually, taking his hand off the peeling device.

The Fed dropped a com sheet on Badger’s desk. “We’re looking for this girl, and she’s been sighted on Persephone a few times over the past two years. You’ve got an extensive network, maybe you’ve seen her? It would very much be in your favor.”

Badger spun the paper around, looking at the pale girl pictured within, with long, slightly wavy brown hair that framed her face and big brown eyes that seemed to be looking right through the camera at the viewer.   
He sat back in his seat. “Nah, can’t say that I have.”

The other man shifted his weight impatiently. “Maybe one of your other … organizational members?”

“Nah,” Badger said again. “They’d have let me know if they saw a pretty girl like this around, ‘specially one worth 200 credits.” At the Fed’s uncomfortable look, Badger leaned forward. “Yeah, we’ve been checkin’ the ‘nets. Seems someone wants this lil’ girl pretty bad, am I right?” Then he leaned back again and shrugged. “’Course, either way, we haven’t seen her. We’ll keep an eye out though, yeah?”

The Fed gave him a final dark look before turning and storming out of the office. As soon as he was gone, a burly man ducked in and whispered in Badger’s ear.

Badger raised his eyebrows. “Well, he’s certainly got some timing. Yeah, sure, show our Cap’n in.”

*****

“Not on the bridge,” Wash said.

“Or the crew cabins,” Zoe added, sounding out of breath.

“Not in the engine room,” Kaylee said, frowning and biting her lip.

“They’re not in the infirmary or the passenger cabins,” Simon said. He was definitely starting to look worried.

“There was no sign of them in the galley,” Shepherd said, a strain on even his usual calm demeanor.

“Nothing in either shuttle,” Inara added.

“And nothing in the cargo bay,” John said. He blew out a breath. “Which means they’re off ship.”

“But River’s never done this before,” Simon protested. “She’s never left the ship alone.”

“Yeah, well, she’s not alone, is she?” John asked. He scowled. “She’s got Sherlock with her, who probably put her up to it for some harebrained reason.” He pulled his gun out of his waistband, dropping his magazine to make sure it was fully loaded before clicking it back into place. Then he smiled tightly at them. “Anyone want to go genius hunting with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was watching “The Hounds of Baskerville” last night and realized that my Sherlock here is being very well-behaved, which is entirely out of character. So coming next: Sherlock drags everyone into deadly danger!

**Author's Note:**

> As stated in the summary, I'm ignoring parts of Serenity because my fic is full of joy and happiness (or at least not character death). Same for Reichenbach.
> 
> I also had to play around a bit with ages. I made Sherlock, John, and Simon younger than they appear in their respective shows: in 2512 Sherlock is 15, John is 19, Simon is 17, River is 12, etc. In 2518 (story proper) Sherlock is 21, John is 25, Simon is 23, and River is 18. Artistic license, I suppose. Sherlock has to be young enough to attend the academy, and John shouldn’t be much older.
> 
> I got some information on canon from the firefly wikia and the sherlock holmes wikia, respectively. Not beta'd or brit/space picked, so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> I hope to update on at least a weekly basis, but we'll see what happens.


End file.
